NDNESVI(Reboot): Myths, Legends, and Gods

So uh, what can I do this turn as a new God, ND?
 
Assuming players can still join, I'm interested in either picking up Patron, or making some plant/wildlife God. The world seems be in desperate need of tree huggers.

@ND: in the final stage, could we hypothetically act as an immortal we create in this stage? IE, Lea or Balaphon?

So uh, what can I do this turn as a new God, ND?

You start out with 1 Major Point and 2 Minor Points, just like other new gods. You can take a look at my example on the first page, as well as orders posted throughout the thread to get a good gauge on how it all works. If you are unsure of something or want to take action with some degree of secrecy, PMing me is always an option :)
 
To All of You Left Behind

He was not ready to give up just yet.

The Curator could sense it as the man lay bleeding out in the snow, victim of some other man’s uncontrolled ambition. There was anger in the man’s eye, burning deep with hatred and determination to cling to life, his sclera darkened by the pain of betrayal and sorrow. Another abandoned man, left to die alone with nobody to hear his dying words. Betrayal by loved ones, the Curator suspected.

The Curator knelt besides the man. His eyes widened in surprise at the sudden appearance of the colorless man, face invisible in the billowing robes save for two pinpricks of burning light where the eyes usually would be. “I thought,” the man choked between gasps. His each breath was getting smaller and taking more work for him. “I thought… there was supposed to be a light… and a gate…?”

“Nyubar will be here shortly,” the Curator said matter of factly. “I am the Curator. A mere spirit here to document your passing.”

The man was silent for some time. “So, that’s it then, huh? I’m going to die?”

“I’ve heard what’s beyond the Gate is beautiful.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“No,” Curator admitted.

“Figured,” the man chuckled, and immediately regretted it as it lead directly into a series of coughs. The Curator did not even react as a few droplets of blood hit its robe, spreading a bit of color onto its otherwise grey figure. “Would you like to hear a joke?” the Curator suddenly asked.

“What,” the man said flatly.

“It was ice meeting you,” the Curator said. “It was really snow problem for me to get here, for I can teleport around, but you should really chill out before you meet Nyubar or you will go through the Gate looking like an angry frozen giant.”

There was yet another awkward silence. “I’m still practicing,” the Curator said.

“That was horrible,” the man said, but he felt a little bit better. “Who put you up to this?”

“The last human I knelt beside suggested that I be more kindly to the humans, so as to make the passing easier.”

“Well, did you ever stop to think that some people just don’t want to ‘pass on?’” the man snapped, feeling his anger rushing back forward again.

“I have,” the Curator said. “When a soul departs through the Last Gates, they leave behind their pain, sorrow, and desire to continue. I have collected these for countless years now. I still do not understand what could be beyond the Gates that would make them give all of these things,” it gestured widely around itself. “up for the rest of the world.”

“Then help me,” the man growled weakly. “Help me live.”

“Your soul has already been claimed, mortal. Your fate is beyond my control. I am here to listen to your story, if there is anything left to tell.”

“My… story…?” the man said under labored breathing. “You… you like stories, don’t you?”

“It is my succor,” the Curator said. “I crave it. I desire it. I feed upon it. Why do you ask?”

“I have… a proposal….” The man said. “My story… doesn’t have to end here.” He motioned for the Curator to come close, whispering things into its ears when the grey form obliged.

The pinpricks of lights in the Curator’s robes widened momentarily. “You interest me, human,” the godly spirit replied. “I believe… I can agree to your proposals, yes.”

“What can you offer me?” the man said.

“My tools. My knowledge. My powers. Everything you need to see your killers brought to justice.”

"What will it cost me...?"

“Everything and nothing,” the Curator said. “You will pass through the Gate soon, after all. You will leave all of this behind,” it pointed towards the man. “You will never see justice done. You will die not knowing what lies beyond the Gates, or what this has cost you. You will die not knowing what repercussions my blessings have caused you or to anyone you have ever loved. The world will continue on, and you will never know what comes after. Be assured, you will play a part.”

“I think I can…” the man smiled. “Live with that.”

There was another pregnant pause. “I’m sorry,” the Curator said. “That was supposed to be a joke, right? I should be laughing right now?”

“No, it was a terrible joke, don’t repeat it to anyone else,” the man said. “Could you…stay with me? Til the end?”

“Mortal, I will stay until Nyubar comes to take your soul, and collect what you leave behind. It was what I was born to do.”

“Thank you,” the man said. “I thought… I was… supposed… to see a light…?” the man went still.

The Curator closed its eyes. It never saw Nyubar, nor the Gates, nor the souls entering or leaving the moral coils. These things were never its domain. His dominion was the corpse, the memories, the emotions of pain and suffering left behind when the souls left them behind. It whispered to the empty corpse.

“I will be watching you with interest. Your story is not over yet,” it said. It let out a sad laugh before vanishing.

The corpse stirred.
 
Took the name and the shape, yes. Why not reuse the concept. Personality and domain is a bit different though.
 
Front page has been updated a fair amount. Races, types of magic, and artifacts are all listed, as are stories in chronological order. If you have any suggestions or questions, don't hesitate to speak up!
 
~ Excerpt from the Diary of Aharrek the Librarian, Fifth Volume.

-

Writing on the 423rd year of the Occultation, 395th year since the founding of Vash'eth on the 6th day of the month of fire.

The rule of Vash'eth and the Dragon Lords of Vasheroth has extended even unto the Sunlands and what was once the western shore of the far continent, where the gods of night hold sway and demons of the devouring god roam free. Our Lord remains hidden and does not appear before us his people, though his voice continues to guide the way. In the Court of Changes the oracles assemble at the behest of the High Priest Dagoth before the Great Temple to take part in the Timekeepers feast. Lord Dagoth, oft walks amongst the people in the guise of his former human form dispensing his kindnesses and making known his compassion for mankind, whom to a dragon such as he are like unto children, made a great sermon on the occasion proclaiming the wisdoms of our god. He continues to ensure the commons heed the warnings against the foul followers of the devouring god who festers yet in his primordial prison, and the folly of the younger gods who do nought but quarrel over their petty domains caring nought for the greater good of the world. Dagoth serves both himself and our god to this end. Hearing his sermons again, I can only be thankful that our Lord is wise, and works for the worlds sake. For who else amongst the gods has done anything to secure the stability of our plane? Who else has done what was necessary to keep the gateway shut to desolation?

But I digress. Lord Dagoth has caused to be erected a great temple to god Vash in the new city of Tiranoch, which barely fifty years ago was built at his behest at the terminus of one of the portal-ways stabilised from the portal located in the House of Many Gates. I at the behest of my master Lord Shogen, visited the shrine to assess his works and present a report on them to my master. I must admit, I saw a marvellous aedifice equal to any in the capital, bedecked all about with precious metals wrought of alchemical magics, and icons of our god, the mightiest of the lords of the world. The magi of the city worked splendidly in their stone-shaping with temple spires reaching high unto heaven in a true sign of the hope that Vash gives his faithful, the hope of meaning and purpose. Indeed so well done was the work that a mere 67 slaves perished in its construction, or so I heard from the master-architect a kindly fellow albeit one who has not received the blessings of our Lord. However more impressive than the stonework or the artworks within were the marvellous wardings carved into the temple walls, making full use of the winds of magics and a nearby nexus to ensure the metaphysical protection of the city from chaos and the servants of the demon-gods. The clouds of incense and harmonic chanting of the oracles as they activated the magic in the presence of Lord Dagoth was truly impressive and echoed long into the evening as the people celebrated the occasion to the glory of our god.

Lord Shogen upon receiving my report in his chamber in the college of magi was, as expected, unimpressed with the success of this endeavour. Master and Lord Dagoth are, as ever, opposed in the Court of Dragons where they compete for the Magistracy as the century draws to a close and Magister Aidenarok looks to the day where he lays the title down and returns in earnest to the study of the eye. The debates between their followers amongst the magi and the noble families only grow as the time of choosing draws near. Lord Dagoths pieties, and his position as High Priest render him much favour, though the oracles of Vash keep silent as to who should ultimately succeed as steward of Vash'eth. My Lord Shogen likewise has his followers, who favour his advocacy of building more cities through the graces our Lord Vash has given us, and spreading our peoples glory to the world. Although I fear his tendency to wrathfulness serves him ill-well in debating with those of the same kind as he. Nonetheless, I as librarian in his household shall gratefully serve him in filial respect for the wisdoms he has deigned to share with me, recording all of significance that occurs in this insignificant life of mine for the glory and memory of Vash'eth and the exaltation of the great god, our most merciful and wise Lord, Vash.

~ Aharrek.

-

Spoiler :
Society of Vasheroth

-

Lord Magister - Dragon, elected by the dragon Lords of Vasheroth from amongst their number to be first amongst equals and de-jure sovereign of the country. Single term is 100 years, consecutive terms are possible.

Court of Dragons - Senate equivalent, consisting of all the "official" dragons of Vash'eth.

College of Magi - The Magocratic Aristocracy/Academic institution. Mages run various government departments at the behest of the Dragon Lords, rule colony cities as vassals, and hold large noble estates. The College also acts as the national magic cultivation institution, supporting the study of magic and magical phenomena.

Noble Families - families of magi, even if members not mages themselves. benefit from their connections to the magocracy and run feudal estates, work in bureaucracy, and in particular the military. The army is dominated by the noble class.

Commons - mundane humans (and Typhan with regards to those few, usually of the riverine kind, who come under the rule of Vasheroth) who lack familial ties to magi, range from wealthy and influential merchants to humble peasants. Usually have a fairly good life (compared to those elsewhere) due to the prevalence of magic in society and its diffuse benefits. However this class has next to no political rights, and has no say whatsoever in the affairs of governance.

Slaves - the wretched class under servitude to the dragons. Criminals and descendants of criminals and enemies of the dragon lords. They do all the work that is objectionable to mortalkind, and are expended in the service of Vash'eths greatness.

-

Religion - Temple of Vash

The cult of Vash is led by a High Priest (currently Lord Dagoth) beneath whom is the College of Pontiffs. Each colony cities (cities are usually founded either on magical nexi, or at the location of portals connected to the portal at Vash'eth, the latter sites leading to the Magocracy of Vasheroth having some colonies being very far afield from its core lands) religious life is overseen by a pontiff.

Also overseen by the High Priest is the College of Inquisitors. They stamp out the practitioners of "Abominable Magics" (abominable magics = blood magic/frost magic. Curses and chi have tacit acceptance, with Yinshung usually being forcefully conscripted into the army to make use of their powers), apostates and heretics, as well as enforce order amongst the magi and the priesthoods. More than one rogue mage interested in forbidden arts has found themselves dead through the actions of the Inquisition.

Separate from the Priestly hierarchy is the College of Oracles. Oracles travel abroad, usually solo, preaching the word of Vash, often with words imparted directly by the whispers of their god, or through terrifying knowledge of things that are, were and will be that they have glimpsed in their meditations. Those to be found in Vasheroth are treated as sacrosanct, and are regularly participants in public rites in capacity as "Representatives" of a kind of their god.

The worship of other gods considered benign (Nyubar as an example) is tolerated amongst the commons - comfortably at some times, barely at others - as a private practice (Although the vast majority worship Vash, his status as the strongest god and the influence of his priesthood being enough to deter most from overtly devoting themselves to others). The public cult is purely Vashian, and the noble classes are expected to be committed devotees of Vash's worship to the exclusion of all others (most mages naturally follow Vash exclusively, his blessing being the prime influence on their lives). Worship of Nital, Rula and other gods hostile to mortal flourishing is suppressed, harshly, by the College of Inquisitors.

Terms

Vasheroth - The Land created by Vash in his battle against Patron. Has become synonymous with the magocratic state centred on Vash'eth, the first city, which governs the majority of this land (As well as some additional colony cities, Tiranoch being one, elsewhere in the world)

Sunlands - The Desert created by Tai in primordial time
 
TAKAMU AND MARYEA TWO

“Takamu! Get Up! It’s Coming!”

The crumpled figure opens his eyes in a flash, limbs scrambling in an attempt to get up. That’s strange, he didn’t remember falling asleep in a pile of rubble.

“Takamu! Duck!”

The man blinks and registers the high pitched warning through a haze of pain. He presses himself flat against the destroyed hut as the club swung right above his nose. With a grunt he leapt onto his feet, only to dive onto his right elbow to dodge another swing. Gah! A sphere of blue is immediately at his side, pressing into him, helping him stumble out of the way from a stomp.

“By the Gods Maryea, what happened!?” he heard himself say.

“You missed and he JUMP! Smacked you into that hut!”

As Takamu leapt sideways over the sweeping blow, and rolled onto his back and back onto his feet, and as he picked up his hammer on the way up, he glanced at whatever Rios-damned monster is terrorizing this particular village. It looked like a goat that jumped off a cliff and landed into a woman with an incredibly lumpy body. A wimply tail-moustache hung off of a muscular tail-nose, and four leg thingys hung off of a neckless face with beady eyes. Lumps of flesh that served as legs are poked through with horns, and tassel-like fur hung from the monster’s knees. One of it’s arms is shriveled up… normal human sized, even. The other is a grotesque exercise in gratuitious muscle, and it’s swinging an uprooted tree right at…

“DODGE!”

So close! How is he going to defeat this monster? As another attack swept closer, and as Maryea made a sound that sounded like a gasp, Takamu recalls his childhood, the isolated mountain valley where the mountains reached for the sky, his parents telling tales of his heroic great uncle’s exploits, his brother tricking him into…

Ah, that’s it!

When the next sweep came, he leapt onto the trunk with a roar, his arm pulling forward, loosening his hammer to spin through the air at the creature’s destroyed face. The spindly arm rose to block the hammer… exactly as intended. While the creature’s gaze was obscured for but a second, he pushes forward and then backflipped over the monstrous head, grabbing the tail and pulling it downward. The face-legs kicked instinctively, hitting only air. Keeping his rotation, supported only by the fleshy nose, he spun right side up again and then jammed his feet into the “hip” joint of the face legs. As the beast roared, he quickly drew his boot knife to jam it into the monster’s now exposed neck.

The monster’s cry became a gurgle, as it stumbled, choking on its own blood. Takamu kicked off of the beast’s chest like a diver, landing in a roll and then into a kneeling position as the creature took a knee itself, before slowly keeling over and landing in a lump… ontop of him.

The Chromarch gasped, or more correctly emulated the sound of a gasp.

“Takamu! TAKAMU!” she cried, but there was no motion nor sound under the mountain of flesh. “Anyone! Anyone help!” She shouts. But the other villages have hid or fled. They were not adventurers, they dare not face such a monster.

The blue Chromarch then rushed over to the corpse and tried to lift it, or even part of it. But sadly, a Chromarch can only do so much. She shouted and cursed but can only watch as her friend was crushed by the monster he slayed.

“Hello?” “What’s wrong?” “Monster Gone?” “Who was that?” “Friend?”

A soft chorus of voices arose. At first, she ignored them in her grief, but suddenly, she realized they were directed at her. Maryea extended her telesense in a wave of disbelief as she realized she was surrounded by a chorus of wild chomarchs.

“My friend is under there! Please help!” She pleaded. They seemed worried at the horrid beast. “It’s dead, but he isn’t yet! My Friend! Help!”

“Friend!” “Help!” They chanted, and soon the corpse was surrounded by glowing balls of light as slowly, but surely, it was lifted onto it’s side, then rolled over in a plop. And beneath it, gasping for air, was Takamu.

“Maryea! Wha…”


“HUMAN!” “RUN!” “FLY YOU FOOLS!” The chorus scattered, surprised at the close proximity to the blood-drenched human.

“Wait! Come back!” called Maryea to her new friends, but they have already hidden themselves.


Takamu laughed and coughed as he pulled himself up from the ground. “Cough cough Maryea… cough… I can still see the grass glowing hehe.”

“Hu?”

“Focus less on the shapes.”

“Oh... Whoa.”

With slow, gentle motions, Takamu coaxed out a trembling Chromarch from the bushes. “Shh… I won’t hurt you.” The Chromarch almost seemed like boiling water, the way it shivered in his gentle palms.

“Human… friend?” It said to Maryea, almost accusingly.

“Human is Takamu, my friend!”

“Human…” it’s voice grew quietly as it whimpered out, “ not take slave?”

“Slave?” asked Takamu.

“Oh no.” said Maryea, as they looked up at the approaching villagers… and among them, a child holding a glass jar stuffed with a gently glowing chomarch.

“Let free…” whimpered the caught Chromarch.

“Let free… Let free…” the chorus starts up. “Let Free… Let FREE!” The Villagers, prepared at first to offer Takamu a proper hero’s welcome to their home, were taken aback.

The child clutched at the glass jar, paid so dear from a meager allowance, and shouted “My Chromarch! Nice Light!”

Takamu stepped forward and loomed over the young villager.

The child gulped, slowly placed the jar down, and ran crying to the parents.

Takamu slowly loosened the jar and opened it. He gently cooed and whispered at the trapped, enslaved Chromarch, telling it to trust him, to fly free. To breathe the fresh air. To feel the sun on it’s sphere.

As it left, he turns to the rest of the villagers. Eyes glancing over the houses, spotting ones where the characteristic soft glow emanated through the opened windows and doorways.

Takamu thought: They did not warn me of this monster when they refused to open the doors at night. They did not help me when I was trapped. They kept Chromarch slaves.

“Shame on you.”

“Shame!” “Shame!” Shame!”

A petulant older sister ran up to him, a curse upon her lips. “Fuk...”

Takamu glared at the girl, who shriveled under the intensive stare, and then he turned, walking away from the village, through the meadows, into the forest where the other Chromarchs followed him.

Maryea have never saw him so quiet. The Chromarchs too were silent… and distant. But slowly, they drew towards, him, their natural curiosity (and his obvious benevolence towards them shown earlier) overcoming their learned fears.

“Who are you?” Takamu, an Adventurer.

“What do you do?” I help people. Go on adventures.

“What’s an adventure?” …

“Takamu! Tell us! Tell us! Friend?”

An adventure is when you leave one home, and hope to find another.

As Tai rose the next morning, they found themselves at the edge of a vast desert.

Takamu kept moving forward, and did not look back.
 
I have heard a voice from the skies, the voice was filled with warmth and light. It was uncomfortable, but it spoke of the eye, the great place where the cold winds are drawn to, where they are eaten and stopped.

It made my world warmer, and it was uncomfortable. I will have to see the eye, and destroy it, but to pass upon the sea, I cannot merely destroy it, for another great being seems to live there and make it its home. I will only freeze the highest layer of the sea, so I would not kill or destroy what is beneath, for the eye must be destroyed.
 
As the wrath of heaven pours down its protestations upon our Lord, the gods hear only silence from the Lord of Fate. For the child-god of destiny, whose golden eyes see that which was, is and will be, works only to the ordinance of providence and cares not for the noisome mewling of the younger gods, who see our plane as a plaything subject to their pleasure. So it is that to them that rage at what fate has given and at what fate has taken away, crying out in baleful countenance to the Lord of Change to undo that which he hath wrought, he speaks not. For it is those who accept fate, and humbly seek solace in things that are, that our Lord gives answers and grants his gifts.

~ Dagoth'ahn, Dragon Lord of Vasheroth and High Priest of Vash, on the occasion of the Feast of Origin, New Years Day on the 231st year of the Occultation.
 
The Beginning of the End of the First Age

A frigid, driving wind pelts against the tent of the giant wise-woman, made of mottled canvas stitched of a hundred skins from the little creatures that roam this world, carefully pulled together with gut string and bone needle, snapping and rippling against the storm without. She chants an invocation to Kross as she casts the frozen human bones downward onto the ground, reading the signs of how they fall according to an ancient frost magic rite. Her eyes widen as she sees that they have not fallen chaotically, but into an ordered pattern...

A mage in some tiled, polished marble hall of Vasheroth, after decades writing and contemplating the nature and origin of divinity, finally begins an experiment to cast his mind outwards into the celestial ether and understand the truth of the formation of gods. In one hand he holds a mirror, in the other a mystic staff inscribed with protective symbols. As he speaks the first words of his fateful experiment, the mirror no longer shows the reflection of the outer world, but something else. A gentle wind from the other place brushes across the mage's face. He collapses in the midst of his spell implements, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as his pupils dilate, reduced to a gibbering wreck. He is only capable of speaking one phrase for the rest of his mortal life. "It's coming."

The Soul of Balaphon withdraws as a faint blood mist from the nose of the corpse of the final fallen adventurer it had possessed to complete its deadly work. All of the villages in this lightly settled region are now dead, and it is time to move on. The still silence after the end of the screaming was something that brought annoyance to the Soul, and the long silences that intervened before new prey worth its attention could be found. But then, suddenly, its acute senses feel something else. A humanoid form, miles away, staring deep into a placid alpine pool. The Soul is curious, and confused, since it was certain it had killed all of the humans here. Oh well, one more.

The figure looks down at the pool, seeing its own reflection. It does not yet have words to describe what it sees, because it does not know words. It has never heard a word. It does, however, analyze and categorize the impressions of what it sees, sorting and understanding the meaning of objects and materials without the need for language. It understands that it exists, and that it has a purpose. The reflection looking back at itself is that of a sculpted stone statue, composed of dark blue metamorphic rock, like lapis lazuli, though it knows this not. As its emotions shift from contemplation to curiosity, seeing the reflected statue mirror its movements, the dark lapis changes to notes of white jade. As the color of the statue's face, and then body, changes, the stone swirls with the texture of mixing paint, or a drop of dye dripped into clear water.

The figure looks down at its hands, testing them by forming the hard, smooth white appendages into different shapes, and open palm and a fist. It caresses the water, the statue's color shifting back to deep blue when it sees that the water behaves in a different fashion from the air and the ground. Then, it turns. The color of the statue changes, as it senses the appearance of the Soul of Balaphon, snaking through the trees. It feels that something similar to itself has appeared. A being with a conscious mind. This causes the statue to feel a mixture of happiness, a gentle yellow citrine, and welcoming affection, a blush of rose quartz. The statue does not yet know that other beings do not express emotion by changing color, but by tones and gestures, so it simply stares at the new figure, shimmering.

The Soul of Balaphon practically convulses with pleasure as it sees the prey it has chanced upon, turning as it kneels by the side of the lake. Some sort of living construct! Perhaps a lost artifact created by a mage or a god, or a strange sort of new Chromakin...no matter. It will learn the truth once it has possessed this thing's mind and body. The carnage it could wreak with this construct under its control...the Body and Mind will be jealous indeed! Practically slavering as it imagines the construct's mighty fists punching through a town palisade, it swirls forward, clouding its vision, seeping into its ears and nose and attempting to possess whatever brain or controlling force animates it, as it has done with countless other helpless creatures for the glory of Nital.

The statue's colors turn to the bright green jade of surprise, as it feels its mind being entered by the Soul of Balaphon. Is this how communication is carried out between thinking beings? And then, all at once, darkness spreads across the statue’s form, as it realizes the intent of this creature after it touches its mind. To control it, and force it to do things that it would not do of its own will. Dark obsidian, shot through with angry lines of red, course across the form of the statue, as it feels anger and fury for the first time.

The Soul of Balaphon has possessed many creatures before. Animals with their primal desires of fear and hunger are easy to override with a few touches. Most humans are not much more complex, simply a few extra layers of ambition and faith to twist and break in predictable ways. Some of them give the Soul more challenge than others, but they always succumb in the end to the incessant whispers of the Voice of Nital. Others, like archmages or dragons, were more challenging, having constructed layers of mental defenses and countermeasures over the centuries, or chromarchs whose essences were well-suited for spiritual combat. These could hurt the Soul, perhaps even kill it. These were only to be attacked with care, and avoided otherwise.

From the outside, the construct’s mind appeared simple at first, like an animal, but the Soul realized its mistake as soon as it was inside. It was...beautiful and terrible. An immense machine, more powerful and complex than even the mind of an elder dragon of Vash. The soul was dragged deeper into its inner workings, and he felt its eyes upon him. Gentle hands combed through his memories, examining his experiences, from the moment of the bloody ritual that ripped Balaphon into three. The Soul screamed and struggled in frustration at this calm perusal of his mind, as the construct meticulously gathered all of the knowledge available to it, not harming him in the process.

"What are you?" hisses the voice of the Soul of Balaphon as it is expelled, violently, from the creature's mind, reeling from the intense psychic shock of meeting a being more powerful than itself. No, not just more powerful. Immense orders of magnitude more powerful. For the first time in centuries, the Soul of Balaphon feels an emotion approaching fear. "What...are you," repeats the statue slowly, testing its ability to speak. "I understand. It uses vibrations in the air..." The statue's texture changes to bright gold as it luxuriates in the feeling of mastery and control over this new tool of ‘language’.

“I...am balance,” says the statue, remaining gold as it understands pride. “Obligation. Control. Law.” It continues to speak the words slowly, testing their meaning, observing how its own mind changes in response to the statements of its purpose. The Soul of Balaphon slowly attempts to slither away as the statue speaks, then melting away back into the forest and fleeing for its life. The statue watches it run, and then gently bends its knees, and jumps. Propelled high into the air, it pursues the flawless trajectory of a calculated projectile before crashing down through the treeline several hundred feet away, landing in front of the Soul as it tries to dart in another direction. But the statue is faster than any mortal. To the Soul’s surprise the statue somehow manages to grasp its own ephemeral form in its hands.

The statue’s form is now luminescent diamond as it looks down at the Soul with firm determination. “You fear...destruction. Being taken to a place where you would not go.” Chains of the same glowing, diamond-like substance burst out of the ground, binding the writhing Soul of Balaphon as it hisses and rages, its formless form trapped. “Yet you do the same to others.” The statue considers its own purpose, the brilliant shining diamond slowly fading back to the cool lapis texture of contemplation. “Strange…”

“I BRING THE DREAD OF NITAL!” the Soul rages. “I WILL NOT BEG FOR MERCY!”

“I will not kill you, in return for an Obligation,” says the statue calmly.

“Neeeverrrrr,” hisses the Soul, loyal to the end.

“My obligation will not harm your master,” replies the statue.

The Soul considers its options. On one hand, it desperately does not wish to summon Nyubar here. If that occurred, there would be no negotiation. On the other hand, trusting the will of what could only be a rival god is an immense risk. But there was no doubting that the statue would end its existence if it refused. And it does not want to die.

The roiling blood-mist mass eventually calms into a relatively quiescent sphere. “What obligation?” it finally says.

“Do you accept?” says the statue.

“...yes.”

“Then the contract is made,” says the statue.

The Soul of Balaphon feels the chains tighten, and then vanish, as an intense compulsion to do the will of the statue fills its mind, like an unavoidable pressure, a driving wind that carries away all in its path.

“Take me to your other parts,” says the statue.

“We have not been united in centuries,” says the Soul.

“That does not matter.”

“What is your name?” says the Soul, convinced at last that this god will not kill it.

“A name…” the statue considers, its unchanging facial features a mask of lapis. It did not have name, so it chose one.

“You may call me Statute.”
 
From: Statute
To: The Gods of the Universe


I am the god of balance and obligation. I am the creation of the longing of the world for balance. I am the judge and the warden. I do not take sides. Balance does not benefit any mortal. Balance does not benefit any god. Balance benefits existence, and the continuation of existence. I do not love, I do not hate. I judge, and I oversee the administration of justice.

Mortals and gods may come to me to arbitrate disputes and make binding contracts. I, and my followers, will enforce them. I intend to build a realm. The purpose of the realm will be to support a court and a prison, fit to sentence and confine any god or mortal who violates the balance. I welcome the support of gods and mortals alike for the eternal court, Amaranthinium.

Laws change. I do not change. I am the foundation upon which the law rests.

That is all.
 
Vash,

Godslayer.

We, Three, wronged by you and yours:

Harika,

Goddess of Sea and Storms;

Kross,

Titan of the Cold North and South;

Tai,

The First Sun;

Do judge you guilty of deicide-

The murder of Patron,

The theft of his power,

Will not be overlooked.

Furthermore,

Your followers, your creations,

Steal power not of their own.

Each of us gift the mortal world

In our own way, and the value of these gifts

Are not to be discussed.

But it is one thing to gather or collect gifts freely given,

And another to steal from one so giving.

You cannot deny what is true.

And so We, Three, do judge your followers,

of Theft of Divine Power.

Hear our requests, nay, demands.

For Murder, we offer you the sentence:

One Thousand Years of Imprisonment

Overseen by Statute,

Lawkeeper.

And Nyubar,

Gatekeeper

Shall oversee the Gift of Chi,

Once offered by Patron,

And so brazenly taken from his corpse

For the Mortals of this world.

For Theft, we offer you the sentence:

Dispersal, Abandonment, and Burial of the Eye of Vash.

Sealing the unnatural energies which draws upon the Divines.

If you choose not to accept,

We have no choice but to enforce our judgement.

Your city will be destroyed and sealed

And all who live there with it.

Nyubar stands with us.

Statute stands with us.

You will be fought,

With our combined might,

And forced to kneel.

Hear our Judgement,

Vash, Godslayer.

We, Three, Await your response.
 
Chronicle of Vash'eth - Year 432 of the Occultation

-

~ From heaven an oracle of Tai proclaimed a sentence upon the Lord of Change. For no longer would the elemental gods abide the siphoning of their power by the eye which Vash created in his battle against patron. Such hubris and petulance is it for these unworthy gods to dare to judge a god. For who can judge fate, that which is meant to be. What arrogance is it, that they claim to have the authority to pass sentence on one of their number, to usurp the supreme authority to govern all creation, and trespass upon the acts of a domain other than their own.

Nonetheless. Our Lord remains as ever silent. For all is as foreseen since the moment time was bound, and all will come to pass as providence dictates. For even the Lord of Fate must act within the great plan of Purpose. We fear the wrath of the gods descending upon us, yet we take heart that all is as Our Lord has ordained. For though the destruction of our great city is near at hand, it is not desolation and the END, that will come, but rather change, change from sickly decadence and stasis that has afflicted us for centuries as we have grown content in our power and hoarded knowledge to ourselves as the rest of the world suffers in its ignorance. We stand at the advent of a new beginning as our works come tumbling down, and with it our knowledge is cast out for new hands to take up the mantle Vash gave first to our people. For this we thank Lord Vash, for in his wisdom he makes up for our deficiencies and teaches us humility.

~ Dagoth'ahn, High Priest of Vash.


Spoiler :
Vash gives no response, for he deigns not to arise from his rest in the wake of hubris. Also a thousand years of imprisonment just wont do :p
 
There will be no warning for when patience wears thin, thought becomes deed, life becomes death. Let justice be done.

Spoiler :
OOC: Your prison would have been more or less as effective as Nital's :p. Anyway, may the First Godwar (AKA The Ganking of Vash) BEGIN. :p

As always, your followers are hilarious. "Oh, they are so arrogant that they don't want their power stolen. Oh, they are being so arrogant judging our god, the 'supreme authority to govern all creation'. Oh, they are so arrogant to surpass their domain."

We're protecting our domains, which your Eye of Vash is stealing. And yeah, you killed Patron which, regardless of the OOC motives (which I'm pretty cool with), is something that demands an IC response. So yeah, woohoo.

Also, "everything's just as planned, don't worry!" /me cues redshirts becoming redmist. :lol:

Just poking some fun. I'm sure my followers [once I get around fleshing them out hah] would have similar theological myopia.

In other news, I think Takamu and Maryea would end up being a fiveparter by next weekend, and finish up after the update.
 
IC:

Not even a god can hide from judgment.

OOC:

If Vash submits he will be treated with the respect deserving his stature. Nital has already proven that a prison does not prevent the ability of a god to influence the world in momentous ways, and Statute is crafting a prison powerful enough to contain him, but not necessarily uncomfortable if Vash is quiescent. What is a thousand years to an immortal?

But, if he seeks to be smote down out of Hubris, clearly he has become consumed by the ambition he took, and the judgment he rendered unto Patron will be rendered unto him. Balance will be served.
 
He heard talks of a prison. Talks of a small dealing with the eye. That will not happen. Kross begun to walk. He took the long route. He went across his frozen tundra. He crossed the narrow between the north and the eastern continent.

He didn't just cross. Kross's pass he built. He stood before the water, weary of what may happen if he disturbs them again. Instead of going through, he brought water up and froze it. A great bridge he built to connect the frozen north and the eastern continent. A bridge so large he himself could walk upon it without it breaking. It was made of ice and rocks. It would be small in the warm seasons, but now Kross was here, and the cold season was here with him, and the bridge was enormous. Giants and men could easily cross the bridge, but Kross was the first to pass through the "Krossing" or "Kross's pass".

Then he walked through the land. Undisturbed by anything in his way. He would take hold of the eye, and whoever is responsible, and crash them into nothing with his bare hands.
 
Just a reminder that applications/orders are due June 23rd, at midnight (CT). So figure out all of your ultimatums, threats, alliances, plotlines, and questions quickly. I already have a few orders, but I'd love to see more either in my inbox or in-thread. The sooner I have them all, the sooner I can start working!

:whipped:
 
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